


A Man On An (Undercover) Mission

by JustDanny



Series: Shassie goodness [1]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: M/M, coming to terms with oneself is tough guys, jules is absolutely wonderful and omniscient and wise, preslash, they're so in love they just need a push, undercover missions are an infinite source of shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDanny/pseuds/JustDanny
Summary: Shawn is a Man On A Mission. He's just realized he may be a tiny little bit obsessed with Lassie, and is just about to do something about it. What better setting than an actual undercover mission involving leather, handcuffs and perfect Hero moments?(Obviously, he didn't see this one coming.)
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Series: Shassie goodness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052168
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

He had a good feeling about this.

Shawn Spencer, fake psychic extraordinaire, walked into the station that morning with an extra spring in his step. It was Monday, and way too early for him to be there, but he was a Man On A Mission. And said Mission was well worth getting up before eleven at least once.

It had all come to him in a dream, about two to three weeks earlier. He’d been indulging good ol’ Gus earlier that night, watching American Duos - to be honest, he did that with gusto even after the whole St Nigel fiasco; not that he’d ever tell his best friend - and he’d sort of zoned out during a particularly painful rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart. The thing is, the song had got him thinking. He’d mostly thought about how old it really was, then realized - gasp - he was actually older; then he’d had a small, silent freakout because he was suddenly an  _ adult _ , yet he didn’t feel like one. He had a no-no policy on stability and commitment and tax-filling, he’d told himself. To which a vengeful part of his brain had replied: well, did you even take a look at your life recently?   
And so he’d done exactly that. It’d come as a surprise to see that, all in all, he’d had the same job, worked with the same people, for about four years now; that he’d managed to revive his relationship with his dad in a way that didn’t make any of the two cringe too much, and that he’d even stopped riding his bike as much, opting instead for the reliable, very much  _ adulter _ Blueberry. Next step, he’d thought, was eating healthy - hah!, as if -, renting an actual apartment, and finding himself a girlfriend.

He’d even been on the verge of telling Gus about his ten-second revelation, but, as usual, his brain had been much faster, and he’d been rudely interrupted by a sudden, frightening fixation on the word ‘girlfriend’ while an evil-sounding laugh played in the background.

Girlfriend, it seemed to say. Try again, champ.

(His inner voice was starting to sound suspiciously close to Henry.)

Never one to back down from a challenge, he’d done exactly that for over a week. He’d gone over all the candidates he could think of, finding fault in each and every one of them somehow. Which was very weird, seeing as he hadn’t been on a date in months - not ever since the whole Abigail fiasco, really - and any thought of a female body should have been enough to at least get his pulse racing.

But then, Shawn had told himself, maybe he hadn’t been going about it in the best way. Maybe this wasn’t about  _ thinking _ , but about  _ feeling _ . So he’d tried dating next.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt the need to do it ever since he’d peacefully broken up with Abigail after just three serial killer-free dates. He’d been quite content focusing on his job, on his daily Lassie-teasing quota, his dwindling flirting with Juliet - she’d been sort of weird lately - and his BFFing with Gus. But going back to dating felt good: it gave his ego a boost, provided him with a challenge as he did his best to adequately charm his way into his dates’ bedrooms and/or lives.

It was on his second encounter with a lovely brunette named Louise - he’d tried blondes, but he’d somehow felt really guilty every time he’d even talked to one - that it hit him. Dating was  _ fun _ , but nothing more ever came of it: he hadn’t even planned on sleeping with his current companion, much less on calling her again after the third date. And it wasn’t the first time that happened, but the fourth in a row - the fifth, if he was to count Abigail, which he totally should.

Something was wrong with him. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

And then there was the dream. Dreams, really. It took him until the seventh one or so to give this whole thing a name.

The thing was, Shawn was not adverse to character development. He was more than willing to admit he’d evolved - some would have called it ‘growing up’ - over the last four years, for example. He’d learnt to accept there were consequences to his actions, even if he still would not think twice before throwing himself into danger headfirst, and to care for and respect those around him - mostly Gus and Jules - as more than just convenient props or supporting characters. He’d also learned not to butt heads with his dad as much, and he’d become somewhat calmer and more reliable over the years. So, yeah, he’d changed.

He just wasn’t ready to admit he’d changed  _ this much _ .

If he was honest with himself, which he almost never was, he had to concede he’d technically been having those dreams for  _ years _ . He’d been doing fine, though, managing to mostly obscure the face of the man sometimes kneeling in front of him, others laying on his back; an embarrassingly large number of times crawling towards him or tied up or somehow restrained and at his mercy. He’d even managed to convince himself for a sadly long time that they didn’t mean anything. But, come on: he wasn’t a genius for nothing.

Of course he was getting nothing out of his dates. None of them had happened to be men, after all, nor - it had been almost physically painful to admit to this last part - Lassiter.

Shawn had freaked out, of course: he wasn’t made of stone. He’d been happily living a perfectly heterosexual life - save a handful homoerotic, very explicit dreams - up until that point. It was a shock. But he’d made an art of going with the flow a long time ago, and this was no different. If he could accept suddenly being Adult Shawn, he could also embrace Bisexual Adult Shawn A Tiny Bit Obsessed With Lassie. Though he’d reached the conclusion that, all in all, he’d rather become Bisexual Adult Shawn Having Lots Of Sex With Lassie. It had a nicer ring to it.

Thus, he became a Man On A Mission, and strolled into the station sans Gus at ten thirty in the morning on a Monday, around two weeks after that seventh dream in which he’d allowed himself to recognize it was Lassie the one he’d been wanting to fuck senseless. And he had a Plan.

Alright, it may not have been a great plan. It may have even been a stupid plan, but stupid almost always worked, particularly around Lassiter. It got him all red-faced and worked up, made him furiously uncomfortable: it was a nice look on him.

Shawn merrily made his way up until he was in full sight of the Head Detective desk. Lassie was working on a towering pile of paperwork; as such, it was a  _ great _ moment to interrupt. Much as he like to complain, the man loved the distractions Shawn brought in on slow days like this one.

Okay, champ, his inner Henry told him. You can do this.

Gulping, he put on his most winning smile, brought a finger to his temple, and barged in.

***

It turned out he couldn’t do this.

He’d done the whole dance: he’d mentioned visions, sat on top of Lassie’s desk, loudly moaned and squirmed and touched the man’s face. It’d only earned him a mildly disinterested glare and a push, and Jules - she was acting  _ really _ weird around him lately - had had to come in and get him out.

“Leave Carlton alone,” she’d warned. “He hasn’t been feeling great; he may shoot you, and I don’t think anyone here would contradict his version when he declares you fell on the bullet headfirst.”

Weird. Lassie didn’t even look that bad; though, on second thought, he  _ was _ paler than usual, and his brow was much more furrowed. Also, he hadn’t even  _ looked _ at him, which was upsetting Step Two of his Plan (it involved far less clothes than Step One, but required Lassie to not be actively ignoring Shawn.)

So, Plan A had failed, and though Shawn hadn’t bothered to think of a Plan B, life had a funny way of working out in his favor somehow. Which was how he found himself called into the Chief’s office a second after Jules had coldly pointed him in the direction of the door. A manic grin spread on his face when he realized he wasn’t going to be the only one to be summoned by Karen Vick today.

“Detective, take a seat.” This time, Lassiter managed to convey much more than disinterest when looking at Shawn. Namely, alarm, a certain anger, and - unless the fake spirits the psychic pretended to chat with were deliberately confusing him -  _ embarrassment _ .

Huh. That was interesting.

“Alright. Why is  _ he _ here?” The Head Detective had had to clear his throat before speaking, and was hardly daring to glance in Shawn’s direction. 

“Well, I saw the spirits had brought Mr Spencer here today,” was the Chief’s slightly amused answer, “and I thought that must have been a sign. After all, I’ve got a case for you right here. For both of you, Lassiter: Mr Spencer’s abilities can turn out to be quite useful for this one.”

Shawn felt his chest puff out a bit. Lassie’s frown deepened, and he looked like he really, really wanted to scowl, but held himself.

“I highly doubt ‘spirits’ will make any difference here, Karen,” he mumbled instead. Chief Vick arched a brow.

“That’s up to a  _ Chief _ to decide, Detective,” she chided. “Still, I’m not talking about that. Mr Spencer is a man of many talents. I was thinking more about his flair for theatrics.”

That earned a slightly hurt exclamation from Shawn, though the Chief remained unmoved.

“As of now, and if Mr Spencer accepts, you’ll both begin an undercover operation. Together, I’m afraid. Detective O’Hara will serve as your liaison if needed. Any questions?”

***

It turned out Lassiter would overlook almost anything for a chance to play pretend. This honestly disconcerting eagerness to dress up and do different accents should have opened up a new and interesting world of possibilities in Shawn’s dirty, dirty subconscious; but the reality of it was so sad and cringeworthy that it almost made him leave the room altogether. Lassie was not only a terrible actor, but also a very enthusiastic one. And Chief Vick hadn’t even explained what their covers would be yet.

“Sounds good, Chief,” the psychic managed to say after several attempts at ungluing his horrified eyes from the Head Detective. “What’s the case?”

In his eagerness, Lassiter had had time to badly impersonate Vito Corleone, try something that was probably supposed to sound like a Boyz N the Hood-type character, and fail spectacularly at a third, alien-sounding and vaguely racist performance, but had not even attempted to find out anything about the actual assignment.

For the first time, Shawn sort of understood what it might mean for others to put up with him on a daily basis.

“Uh.” Chief Vick was apparently also trying to recover from the impromptu show. To her credit, she managed not to let her worry show too much. “It’s a pretty open-and-shut case. Drug smuggling: we just need to know some names. Unfortunately, it’s all apparently going on at the VIP room of a club, so we’ll need you to infiltrate and cause as little of a stir as possible.”

She handed them both a couple of folders. Lassie took his with a grin still on, though it soon froze. Shawn himself felt a little bit like bolting, too.

“Eh, Chief, is this thing even real? Outside of Hollywood, I mean,” Shawn protested. Next to him, Lassie had suddenly gone very pale only to blush brightly about a second later.

“Apparently. And, outside of the drugs, it’s all totally legal,” she pointed out. She didn’t look much more comfortable than they were, either. “Also, it’s quite an exclusive event. VIPs only. And, in this case, all-male. Still, if you’re not up for it-”

Lassiter shook his head. “It’s alright.” His tone was weirdly contained, though, and he absolutely refused to look at Shawn. “But I’d rather do it alone. I’m more than capable of-”

“That’s non-negotiable, Carlton. If Mr Spencer here doesn’t want the job, we’ve still got-”

“I’m in.” From the very moment he said it, and despite his rational brain yelling at him to stop, Shawn knew he was making the right choice. An  _ Eyes Wide Shut _ type sex club?; that was surely worth seeing. Throw in a sexed-up Lassie, and it was an all-go. He was going to have a lot of fun with this one.

***

He wasn’t having a lot of fun. In fact, he wasn’t having fun at all .

The whole week they’d been preparing for the assignment, he and Lassie had not once been together, alone, in the same room. There was always Jules and, on one memorable occasion, a freaked out Gus. Not that Lassie seemed too eager to spend time with him, really: he kept reminding him of ‘professionalism’, ‘just a job’, and ‘keep your hands to yourself, Spencer.’ He’d even lost that initial excitement, which was a bummer: happy and enthusiastic was almost as good a look as flustered on him.

Oh, shit. How in the name of Val had it taken Shawn so long to realize he had a stupidly huge crush on the man?

At last, after a week of going through lists of names and proper procedures, they were almost ready to go. Juliet made sure the van that would be parked three streets over had everything in place before giving them what would be their disguises.

“I tried to pick something discreet, but well. They also had to sort of go with the theme of the party, didn’t they?,” she apologized, looking mostly at her partner. Lassie nodded grimly.

“We’ll survive,” he stated.

Both outfits were sort of similar, Shawn guessed as he tried very carefully not to picture Lassieface squeezing into the tight leather pants and vest he himself was wearing. He wouldn’t see the detective wearing his disguise until they were both inside: he was going to come directly from the station while Shawn got to ride along with Jules and the tech guys. That way they wouldn’t be seen getting in together, and Lass would have a chance to make sure there was as little danger as possible before letting a civilian get involved.

“So.” It wasn’t often that Shawn found himself at a loss for words, nor that he let silence become uncomfortable. But the ride was proving itself to be long, stretching twenty minutes into an eternity. Finally, it was Jules the one to break it.

“Be careful, okay?,” she muttered. Shawn nodded.

“Don’t worry, I got it. I promise all whipping will be consensual,” he joked. Well, half-joked, at least. But she shook her head.

“I don’t- I mean with Carlton, Shawn. Be careful: he’s not me, alright?” She looked dead serious, and both hurt and worried at the same time. “Don’t toy with him: he won’t take it well. And I don’t want to lose my partner because you can’t take things seriously for once, is it clear?”

It took Shawn a while to find his voice after that. He wanted to ask her how much she knew, if she thought he had a chance; he also wanted to joke about it so it wouldn’t be that awkward, that real, and to somehow apologize to her because he suddenly understood why she’d been acting like she had around him, and he’d never meant to hurt her, really.

But, when his voice came back, he could only nod and mutter a couple of words. “Will do.” And, he discovered with surprise, he did mean them.

***

The club wasn’t seedy at all, which sort of threw him off his game for a moment, his expectations shaken at the sight of the modern-looking building with bright lights and a line of people at the door. They drove around and past it, parked the van three streets away as planned. Juliet searched her purse then and produced a ticket that she placed in Shawn’s hand.

“That’s the pass: you’ll go directly to the VIP section. It’s most likely there that you’ll find the dealer.” Shawn nodded: he remembered that from the briefing sessions. “Watch out for anything suspicious, and try and keep in Lassiter’s sight at all times, got it?”

With just that, Shawn was left to fend for himself. He got to the building and found a small door almost nobody went through. Pass in hand, he made his way towards it, only to be stopped by a run-off-the-mill bouncer. 

“Access here is restricted,” he said. With a shit-eating grin and a nervous glint in his eye, Shawn waved the pass in front of him. The man frowned, looked him over with disdain and finally shrugged. “You don't look like a VIP,” he said, in what was obviously a half-hearted attempt at apologizing. Then he took Shawn’s pass, fitting his wrist with a neon-stripped band instead. “All set. Enjoy.”

So, first step had been easy. In silence, Shawn wondered if Lassie had had the same luck.

The club was, on first sight, almost like any other club. There were very few women, though, and there was leather and rubber and there were outfits that Shawn preferred not to speculate upon. Having just recently come to terms with the fact he maybe wouldn’t mind batting for the visitors instead of going with the local team every once in a while, he wasn’t exactly sure he was ready to explore even more of his sexuality in the next few decades. 

The VIP section was smaller than the main dance floor, and it was both tastefully decorated and chock-full of half-dressed men. Most had at least some leather in their outfits, some were oiled up and glistening and none spared a single glance at him. He deflated a little.

Shawn spotted Lassie almost immediately. He had a glass in his hand and was indeed wearing pants as tight as his, which made Shawn’s own a bit more uncomfortable. He had no vest on, though: other than the glorious sternbush - a view Shawn made sure to enjoy thoroughly while being as discreet as possible -, he only had a thick black leather collar on.

He had sort of expected Lassie to be as out of his element as he was whenever social interaction other than yelling was required. He seemed, however, surprisingly at ease, chatting away with a much more conservatively dressed man in his forties. The sight stopped being mesmerizing soon enough, though, quickly becoming annoying as the older man got way too close to him, squeezing his shoulder and even making him smile. Something red and ugly twisted inside Shawn’s stomach, and he looked away. Better scan the crowd in search of a drug dealer, then leave this place and drag Lassie back to safety. 

All through the crowd, Shawn made an effort to catalogue faces, trying to find something that could help them close the case fast. He dismissed most of the people there as either too drunk or too horny to be doing business; he found some others that looked high as hell, and was about to try and sort through the rest when lights went off.

This wasn’t on any of the folders, was the first thing he thought. The music was turning softer, too, and people were apparently going crazy at the same time: there was rubbing and kissing, and a hand came out of nowhere to grab at his ass. Shawn recoiled, startled, and moved through the sea of bodies in search of a safe haven. 

He hid himself in the toilets, though all three stalls were occupied by more than one person, judging by the noise. Still, he tried them out of spite: the third one opened after offering only a small resistance, and he bit out a high-pitched shriek at the sight of a lifeless body staring at him with his throat cut.

He closed the door immediately, tried to catch his breath before peeking in again. Only a full minute later did he remember to contact Jules through the mic he was wearing. 

“There’s a dead man in here,” he breathed, trying his best not to sound as panicked as he felt. The corpse was a guy in his late thirties, dark skin and hair dyed beach blond. He had his mouth open, and his eyes were bulging out; there was something vaguely familiar about him.

“What? Shawn, what are you-?”

He had seen him before, he thought. He mentally scanned all the information they’d been given about this. Once he started going through the files he’d been shown, it didn’t take long to find the guy’s face staring at him from one of them.

“Christian Nang,” he muttered. He’d been the one to call the police: he was one of the owners. He knew there was someone selling drugs in  _ his _ club, sort of suspected it was more than a one-off thing, though he had found no evidence whatsoever, so he’d asked for help.

Only now, looking at his body, Shawn started to suspect maybe he’d found something after all.

“Shawn? Shawn, go with Carlton. Get him to secure the scene, alright? I’m calling backup, and we’re going in.”

He nodded dumbly, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t see him. There was something nagging at him, something he knew would solve all of this in a second if he could just find it.

Nang had had a partner, he thought, though only in business. He tried to recall the name - Richard Evans - and the face, and came up with a well-dressed man in his forties standing too close to  _ his _ Lassie and saying something in his ear. Nang would’ve probably told Evans not to worry about the drugs anymore, he thought, because the police would be here tonight. And then he’d have had his throat slashed. And then-

Shawn ran back out of the toilets, his heart beating fast in his chest. A thousand pictures ran through his head, but he didn’t stop to examine them. In his ear, Jules was saying something he didn’t quite hear: he was too focused on scanning the room, the hundred or so sweaty faces that were not Lassie’s nor Evil Man Evans’. And then he saw a small door, a third door, not the toilets nor the exit: it was slightly ajar. And he pushed his way towards it.

He honestly had no Plan, but then, he’d made it this far without one. Deep down, he sort of wished that no Plan would be needed, that Jules would barge in with the cavalry and he wouldn’t have to save the day. Shawn didn’t kid himself: he was no hero. At best, he managed not to be a hindrance; but this time he may have to be.

In his panic, he almost didn’t realize he’d come to the end of a corridor and was now staring at a closed door. He could hear faint noises coming from behind, and as he opened it he tried not to imagine what was happening. Lassie was strong, but Evans was armed and had surprise on his side. It wouldn’t be a very fair fight.

The moment he stepped into the room, though, he almost wished he hadn’t. This was no backdoor storage, but a full-fledged bedroom, only slightly sinister but clearly furnished with a clear goal in mind. He at least had the good sense of staying close to the door, hidden by the shadows while looking in awe at the scene taking place on top of the dimly lit bed.

Lassie had lost the boots, and was probably in the process of losing the leather pants too. He’d been handcuffed to the bedframe, but he didn’t seem to mind it terribly. The man in the suit, still fully dressed, was straddling him: the smirk on Evans’ face was mirrored by Lassiter’s.

That red ugly thing growing in Shawn’s stomach seemed to suddenly transform into a full grown T-Rex at the sight. Breathing deeply and thinking bitterly about ‘professionalism’, ‘just a job’ and ‘keep your hands to yourself’, he turned to leave. Just then, though, he heard Evans speak.

“So, a cop, right? Wouldn’t have pegged you as one.” It wasn’t playful or sexy, and unless the guy was really in character, it almost sounded angry. “A shame, really. I think I would have enjoyed your company.”

It took Shawn only a second to turn again, and another one to launch himself at the bed at the sight of Evans wielding a knife. He stumbled after the third step, landed face first only inches away from the mattress, and scrambled to his feet hoping it wasn’t already too late.

It was honestly lucky that the bedsheets were red: it helped hide the blood stains from Evans’ broken nose. The man was shrieking, hands holding his face while Lassie kicked away the knife and moved, making the older man lose his balance.

“Spencer! Where the fuck were you?”

Too stunned to answer, Shawn quickly scanned the man in search of wounds or scratches. Other than something on the side of his neck - the word ‘hickey’ just made his blood boil, so he very carefully did not think it -, he seemed fine.

“How did you get out of the cuffs?,” he asked finally. He saw Lassie blush a little bit before shrugging.

“Brought my own,” he said. “Safety release.”

On the bed, Evan said something that sounded much like a curse. Shawn decided to ignore him.

“Good call,” he conceded instead with a grin. Lassiter seemed to relax a little, though he remained gruff. “I almost thought I’d have to save you. You can’t put me through that kind of pressure again, Lassafrass!”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Spencer. I can manage just fine.”

Shawn smirked. “Sure. You just let me tag along because you love having me around.”

To his surprise, Carlton said nothing to that.

***

“Great job, guys! He confessed to both the murder and the drug dealing.” Juliet seemed awfully chipper for someone still awake at four in the morning. She went away again after waving, leaving them both to face paperwork on their own. 

They hadn’t yet changed, though Lassie had put on a shirt. The resulting outfit looked bizarrely hilarious, though something in Shawn couldn’t help but still find it a little bit sexy.

Must have been the lack of sleep.

“So, did you get to the part where I gallantly stepped in to save you?,” he asked. Lassiter smirked.

“You mean when you fell on your face?” Shawn felt a slight blush creep in, but he fought it. He refused to be embarrassed by what could have been - though all in all wasn’t - a spectacular rescue.

“I mean when I ran out to help you. Valiantly.”

For a second, none of them said anything. Then, a soft ‘thanks’ left Lassie’s lips, and Shawn was yet again rendered speechless, which was becoming very annoying very fast.

“What?,” he managed to ask. The older man shrugged and averted his gaze, only to go back to looking him in the eye a second later.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “For that.”

It was an intense look, one that spoke about lots of things, none of which had to do with Evans. For the first time since he’d become a Man On A Mission, Shawn stopped to look at Carlton beyond the obvious mask he always had on. He’d done it before - that’s why he’d been able to pick on his relationship with Detective Barry, how he’d discovered he was only  _ sort of _ a jerkass. It was also the reason he’d been sure he’d been innocent in the Chavez murder, and why he’d known he’d have his back in the Yang case. Behind that mask Carlton Lassiter was actually a pretty decent - if still rude and insensitive - human being.

He was also fragile, and scared shitless. It took Shawn about a second to deduce he was scared  _ of him _ . Of what he would do; or worse yet: of what he wouldn’t do.

There should’ve been music. Something epic, like a rock ballad. Something to mark the moment Shawn Spencer, Man On A Mission, took two steps towards the table in Interrogation Room C, grabbed Carlton by the neck, and kissed him.

On the other hand, it was actually very lucky there hadn’t been any music, because it would have been followed by a sad horn as Lassie pulled away, eyes wild in a look of pure panic.

“Spencer, what the hell?”

Suddenly feeling that same panic reflected on his own face, Shawn took a step back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. 

“Alright, Lassie: do  _ not _ kill me. Please. I have a family. And still I don’t want to be dead.”

Lassiter stood from the chair, still looking at him as if he would somehow sprout another head and proceed to eat his liver. It wasn’t nice, being on the receiving end of that look. Shawn tried again. 

“Okay, man. I don’t know how to put this.” Whatever, he thought: Gus would probably be able to cash in his life insurance, if he’d remembered to pay for it this time. “Or, actually, yes, I do. I was going to say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I wanted to do that. I’ve been waiting all night to do that, to be honest. All week, in fact; and, now that I think about it, I’ve probably sort of wanted to do that for years, Lass. So, well. Mission accomplished. If you’re not going to kill me, and I can’t stress enough how much I do not want to be killed, I’ll just go my merry way. Can be out of Santa Barbara by tomorrow morning. If you want me to skip the country, though, I’ll probably need a couple of days to get-”

“Spencer, you don’t like men.” It was a fact. It wanted to sound like a fact. But there was the slightest hint of a question, a hopeful one, in there, and Shawn’s heart suddenly started to flutter, trying to get out of his body via his throat. He cleared it, and shrugged.

“Well, I also didn’t like Thai food until Gus brought me to that one place,” he blurted out. Carlton frowned. “What I mean, Carlytown, is that life’s made out of changes, and exceptions. Kind of like how you’d just sort of ignore a tiny little lie after a while because you’ve grown fond of the person saying it. Or how there’s one tie you wear every two Mondays that isn’t completely awful, you know.”

There was a silence after that, one that seemed to stretch out indefinitely. Then, Carlton nodded.

“I guess there’s always an exception,” he croaked out, and Shawn was much better now at seeing behind Carlton Lassiter’s mask. 

This time, he returned the kiss. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, what nobody's been waiting for: A Man On An (Undercover) Mission Part II: The Completely Unnecesary And Honestly Kind Of Terrible Sequel.   
> Enjoy.

“Spencer.” Lassiter’s growls had stopped being menacing a long long time ago. If there had still been in them even a sliver of authority, though, he’d lost it when he’d decided to stare Shawn down while still in tonight’s outfit.

“Well, hello to you too, darling.” With a grin, Shawn promptly slid into the now unlocked car, claiming the passenger seat before the detective had a chance to protest. He saw Lassie let out a frustrated sigh and rub his eyes before getting in himself.

“Spencer, I’m going home,” he said quietly. It was weird, almost upsetting, to see him tense up when Shawn closed his door. He’d been about to make a joke - a lewd one, because he’d been sort of in the mood for a bit of lewdness - but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he looked at Carlton, puzzled, and tried to figure out what his next step should be.

“You’re upset,” he noted. Lassie stubbornly refused to look at him, so Shawn found himself extending his hand, grabbing the older man’s face. He wasn’t going to start talking to himself. Not yet, at least. He still needed an audience.

“Spencer-” Shawn had the deference of waiting for a few seconds before talking again, just to see what Lassie had to say for himself. It was apparently nothing.

“So, we kissed,” he stated. The detective’s ears blushed a deeper shade of red, if possible, and he nodded curtly. “And you liked it, Lass. I know you did. And I did, too.” At that, Lassiter opened his mouth again, but no words came out. There was instead a weird uncomfortable noise. Shawn let his hands down. “So, tell me. What did I do wrong? Because you’re very obviously upset about something, and I’ve literally just left you alone the ten minutes it took me to get out of those goddamn pants to pee and change. So, either you had a rebel action-”

“Revelation.”

“-or I did something wrong. And now I think my father’s ghost is possessing me, because me having fucked everything up suddenly seems like the only logical conclusion. So, please, do talk. I’m waiting.”

“Henry’s not dead.” There was a long, long silence, a whole minute of it at least. Then: 

“I’m just, I’m sorry, Shawn.” 

That was promising. 

“I think I’m having second thoughts about this.” 

That part was less promising. But he kept waiting, and Lassie spoke once again even though he avoided Shawn’s eyes.

“You’ve never, you know. You don’t like men. You don’t like  _ me _ , and I’m- You’re going to realize it at some point, or I’m going to realize it was all just a joke, and  _ I can’t _ . I’m not ready for that.”

Shawn found himself trying not to burst out laughing. It was either that or slapping the ever loving shit out of his stubborn, stupid, absolutely adorable Head Detective. He felt his heart do a backflip at that last thought: it was probably a serious medical condition, so he made a note to ask Gus at some point.

“Man, you’re like, the dumbest cop I’ve ever met, and I’ve met my dad.” He only realized he wasn’t exactly helping halfway through the sentence: by then it was already too late to stop, so he just kept going. “Lassie, I’m  _ here _ . I’m still sitting here, with you, even though you’re spouting crap and are dressed like a- No, you know what?, I don’t even know what to compare you to.” He shook his head as disbelief started turning into anger on Lassiter’s face. That, he thought, he could work with. “So, point is: I  _ know _ what I want. It may have taken me almost thirty years to realize that, yeah, maybe I can do beards and sideburns and the whole package down there, but I’m doing my best to catch up on that front. And I  _ know _ I like you, and if you can’t see it then you’re an even worse cop than those  _ Police Academy _ guys.” Biting his lip, catching his breath, he quietly added: “And I don’t think you are, Lass.”

It took Lassiter a long moment to answer. The anger had subsided, and he searched Shawn’s gaze again before nodding. “Alright. I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s  _ sudden _ , Spencer.”

“Tell me about it. And here I was thinking I kept rewatching  _ Real Genius _ because of Val’s acting.”

Lassie actually snorted at that, which was so unexpected and wonderful that Shawn thought it’d just become his favourite moment ever. The older man rested his head against the seat, closed his eyes for a moment.

“I just- I’d given up,” he muttered. Then he looked at Shawn again. “I think I may keep, uhm, freaking out for a while, Spencer.”

“Fair enough,” Shawn chirped in. He then proceeded to let his hand rest on Lassie’s leg; he felt him tense at the touch, then relax. He didn’t even try to shake it off, which was, he supposed, a start. “Do you mind if I keep you company while you do that?”

***

They kissed again when they got to Carlton’s house, made out like horny bunnies until they had to break apart for fear of choking. Lassie gave Shawn sheets and a couple of pillows so he could make himself at home on the couch, then left to ostensibly shower and change, but more likely to mull over things and make himself miserable. Much as the psychic would have loved to prevent that last part, he sort of understood it was something Lassiter had to deal with on his own. His loss, he told himself.

He then spent the next ten minutes trying very hard to get his body to settle after the most recent events. If he’d still had any doubt about wanting hot man-sex with Lassie, he sure as hell knew it with certainty now.

He was starting to drift off when he felt someone squeeze his shoulder. Half-opening an eye, he found Lassie crouching next to the couch.

“You awake?,” he heard him mutter. That made him open the other eye and let out a yawn.

“Mostly,” he answered truthfully. In fact, parts of his body were starting to perk up with a certain interest at a once again shirtless Carlton, now clad in a much more flattering pair of briefs.

“Good,” the older man said. “I think I’m done.”

Shawn’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Done?” Lassie nodded.

“Freaking out.”

***

“So, out of curiosity,” he started nonchalantly, still a bit out of breath. The sight in front of him was a scene ripped straight out of his latest raunchy dreams: Lassie was almost naked, dishevelled and flustered. Sitting as he was on the bed in front of him, legs sprawled and eyes looking up to Shawn, he looked downright  _ dirty _ .

“Yeah?,” the older man panted. He invited Shawn to join him on the bed with a gesture; the psychic took his sweet time, though, taking off his own clothes slowly and smirking as he felt Carlton’s gaze follow each of his movements.

“Earlier, you said you’d brought your own handcuffs to the club,” he chimed. He’d taken his shirt and socks off, but stopped before doing away with his jeans, opting instead to throw an amused glance in Lassie’s direction. The detective squirmed a bit under it.

“Yeah, so?”

Shawn’s smirk became wider.

“Well, regulation cuffs don’t have a safety release, now, do they?” As expected, the comment made Lassie blush madly. “Anything to say in your defense, Carly?”

He got onto the bed with his jeans still on, his erection straining against the fabric and screaming for release. He ignored it, though, tugging instead at Carlton’s briefs until the older man complied, raised himself a bit so that Shawn could get them out of the way. Lassie was hard, too; it came almost as a surprise. Other than the odd Google search and a couple of innocent stall peeking incidents, Shawn had never seen another man’s cock. Never like this, at least, swollen and ready and almost twitching when his hands came to rest on top of Carlton’s thighs.

“Carly?”

The detective swallowed, his face and ears still red. Slowly, though, a veritable  _ smirk _ crept on his face.

“The collar was also mine. Just so you know.”

And oh, shit, that was it. Lassie had the gall to look innocent while making very sure Shawn fully grasped the implications of what he was saying. Just the slightest tug of a smile at the corner or his mouth, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly as Shawn moved to straddle him.

In retrospective, leaving his jeans on didn’t seem such a smart move, even less so when Carlton started moving, squirming and rubbing lightly against the now painfully trapped erection Shawn was sporting. He had to push the man back against the mattress just to recover a semblance of control somehow. Not that it seemed to fool Lassie, if his grin was anything to go by. Still, he played along, laying still and even raising his arms over his head, waiting for the psychic to take the hint.

In Shawn’s defense, it didn’t take him long: he made sure to restrain the older man’s wrists with one hand, using the other to keep his balance while he lowered himself to kiss him. Lassie’s lips parted almost immediately, and he let out a couple of needy sounding growls when the psychic’s tongue took the chance to slide into his mouth and work its magic.

Okay, so kissing a guy wasn’t really  _ that _ different from kissing a girl. Sure, the angles changed a bit, and there was stubble, and Lassie was honestly much more compliant than most girls he’d ever done this with, though that may be just him. He found himself nibbling at the older man’s lower lip only to soon get distracted by his neck. Sucking and licking at his skin, some part of him swelled with pride -and more- at the low moans  _ that  _ got out of the detective. 

And then Carlton started grinding against him, and things were suddenly much more intense than he’d predicted, and he lost it. He went rigid for about a second, bit his lip and let go of Lassie’s wrists. There was a sudden voice in his head, one that was half Henry’s but mostly his own, and question marks everywhere. His hips seemed to move on their own: he had no way of stopping, no way of getting his cool back, and that was freaking terrifying. 

The questioning look on Carlton’s face managed, somehow, to still him. Gasping and gulping, Shawn tried to pull himself straight.

“You alright?” There was actual concern in the older man’s voice, raspy and breathless as it was. Shawn nodded dumbly and tried to move again, but was stopped by Lassie suddenly sitting up, a hand on his back holding him close while his other arm -firm, muscled,  _ male _ \- supported his weight until he adjusted. “Shawn?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, because of course he was fine. Great, even. Things would be much better once they got back to moving against each other, of course - he only had to catch his breath and get rid of those jeans and he could go back to feeling Carlton’s erection pressed against him and-

“Shit,” he mumbled. It was hoarser than he’d planned, but everything seemed to be ignoring all of his plans lately, so that was fine. “Sorry about that. I just need a moment to get out of these.”

Lassie nodded and let him go. Shawn crawled his way out of the bed, took off his jeans and briefs, found his hands were shaking. He cursed under his breath again, and suddenly there were arms around his chest, and part of his brain started squeeing like a fifteen-year-old at the fact that Lassie, Carlton McGrumpypants Lassiter, was  _ hugging _ him.

They stayed like that for a while, Shawn’s sudden unsteadiness sort of hidden. Then, Carlton kissed him on the back of the head in a gesture that was so spontaneous and unnecessary and wonderfully intimate that it almost made him cry, and sat on the bed. 

He was still naked, still half hard, but he sure as hell looked nothing like he had a few minutes before. In fact, he was almost businesslike, and Shawn found himself squirming under his gaze. Lassie patted the bed beside him, and he plopped down.

“So,” Carlton started. He didn’t add anything after that, though, which sort of made it an awkward little lost word. Just so it wouldn’t feel lonely out there in the world, Shawn’s mouth started forming more.

“Sorry. I just- I promise, I’ll be up and going like, anytime now. Just-”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.” That made each and every alarm in Shawn’s brain go crazy at once. No. No no no no no. He’d worked hard for this. He needed  _ this _ \- maybe not the sex, not at the moment, but he needed Carlton there, needed to hear him snort again and see him blush in a good, non-irritated way, and-

The other man must’ve seen some, or all, of his thoughts on his face, because he was suddenly grabbing his hand, shaking his head. “No! I don’t mean- Shit. Spencer. Shawn. I just, listen.” He stood, almost yanking Shawn’s arm off before he remembered he was holding his hand and let go. The psychic missed it almost immediately. “Look, we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, alright?”

Shawn wanted to interrupt him, tell him he was a grown man and was perfectly capable of doing the sex thing, thankyouverymuch, but he shut up. Lassie sounded sincere. Understanding. He crouched in front of him, put a hand on his knee in a way that was infinitely warm and reassuring.

“This is so not how I was planning this night to go, Lassafrass,” the younger man admitted quietly. He still had his petrified smile on, but it was turning almost genuine.

“Yeah, well. First times are often- messy.” There was good humor behind it, but also a deep sense of embarrassment that let Shawn know he would have to come back to the topic once he got Lassie to lower his guard. “It’s fine, really. We can do it next time, or whenever.” He suddenly went very pale, scrambled back to his feet, and stuttered. “Not that it  _ has _ to be a next time, just-”

Shawn took him by the wrist and tugged, making him stumble and fall almost on top of him on the bed. Lassie broke the fall as well as he could, but they still ended up laying breathless and tangled. Which was, all in all, sort of what Shawn had been aiming for. He kissed the top of the detective’s nose first, before taking his mouth. It took him a while to break it off, and he still didn’t let Carlton move then.

“There better be,” he muttered against his ear. “A couple thousand, at least. I mean, took me long enough to get here, you know. Better make it last.” He felt stupid just saying it, but it made Carlton smile warmly at him, so it was well worth it.

They stayed like that for a while, Shawn worming his way a bit to the side so they could both be more comfortable. It was nice, having Carlton so close, so solid. It was also nice not to have that pressure -that annoying  _ voice _ \- weighing him down. 

Not that he’d ever admit to it, but the whole ordeal had been sort of scary. Seeing the other man so sure of himself, of what he wanted, while he was, what? Confused. Worried. Freaking out a little bit. Not fit at all to take charge, as Lassie had seemed to want him to. Shit. The one time Lass was willing to follow his lead, and it just had to be  _ here _ .

Not that it wasn’t hot, he mused. Dream Shawn, the slightly more toned and way more confident version of himself that starred in his fantasies, would have had no problem at all taking him up on his offer.

Real life sucked sometimes.

Tentatively, he went back to kissing Carlton’s lips. The detective’s hands slid over him, one resting at the back of his neck, the other at the small of his back. They felt reassuring, as if they would support him no matter what. After a moment, Shawn let himself go, stopped thinking over every small move, and relaxed.

His mouth trailed over Carlton’s skin, planting small, wet kisses on his neck and chest before going back to his lips. In his favor, the older man controlled himself quite well: he moaned and whined, but held his body still from the chest down, only bucking his hips a couple of times, stopping every time almost immediately. It was painfully obvious he was hard again, but was fairly well behaved: something in that thought sent shivers down the psychic’s spine.

Shawn switched them over without even realizing he’d done so. It just felt natural, him being on top. It felt almost as natural when he started grinding against Lassie again, no fabric between them this time.

“You okay with this?” Carlton’s grunt was low and breathless, but it still managed to sound endearingly worried, which was absolutely not what Shawn needed right now. 

To be fair, he wasn’t quite sure himself of what exactly it was he needed, not yet, but he was getting there. This whole thing, he supposed, was weird: he sort of felt seventeen again, seeing boobs for the first time and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with them, really.

Only this time, his treacherous inner voice (thankfully not sounding much like Henry for this, or he would have had to drink a couple bottles of bleach to try and get it out), you sort of know what you’re working with. It’s just a question of having the gall to actually go and do what you  _ know _ is going to work.

If there was one thing Shawn couldn’t resist, it was a challenge. Even if it’d been technically issued by him and nobody else had heard. So that was how he found himself nodding, his right hand moving to travel downwards, grab at Carlton’s cock. That got him a whimper, an almost pleading look from the other man; he swallowed hard. C’mon, son: you can do this.

He panicked again, but this time he managed to push the feeling down, focusing instead on kissing Lassie on the mouth once more, sucking his lower lip while the detective’s body slowly rocked against his, his cock twitching in Shawn’s hand. He loosened his fist a little before he started pumping it. It was a weird angle and a weird feeling, but he soon got a rhythm going, and he almost forgot about everything but the noises Carlton kept making, his face red and sweaty, eyes half-lidded whenever he’d slow down or stop to adjust himself. It wasn’t half-bad, all things considered, how he could make him tremble and pant and growl and plead.

“Faster. Shawn. Please,” Carlton choked out at some point, and the psychic felt a smirk creep on his face as he kissed the man’s neck.

“Now, now, getting a bit bossy, aren’t we?” 

It was still a far cry from his usual cockiness -ha!-, but it’d do for now. Still, he did as Lassie had said - begged -, pumping faster, letting his thumb play with the leaking tip while his own cock loudly demanded attention. He focused on the feeling, on the surge of adrenaline and the sudden jerks shaking Carlton’s body, and he let his reeling mind go blessedly blank for a few seconds.

Lassie came with a low growl. He kept pumping, getting dirty and messy but not caring that much, memorizing the detective’s face at that moment, head thrown back, neck exposed. He looked vulnerable, but also solid and real, so different from what he’d imagined he would; it still felt amazingly  _ right _ , as if he was exactly where he was supposed to, for once.

Panting, Carlton brought a hand to his face, ran it through his hair and brought him down so he could kiss him once more. Shawn felt him shift under his body; after a few moments, the detective whispered in his ear, tickling him and sending a shiver through his spine.

“Let me- Just tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” He then pushed the psychic a bit to the side, nudged him until he was lying on his back. He positioned himself, too, and before Shawn could fully process what he was doing there was warmth around his cock and he couldn’t exactly think because  _ he was getting blown by Lassie _ , and he must have died and gone to Heaven: it felt too good to be true.

He was good at it, too. He licked and kissed it before swallowing it whole, his head bobbing up and down, lips stretching around it only to let go after a moment, blow cool air on the tip, and start again. It was maddening; Shawn found himself instinctively trying to take hold of the detective’s hair, though it was so short that he ended up just running his fingers through it, forcing himself not to hold him there as he also tried his hardest to keep still.

He tried to warn Carlton that he was coming, probably managed to choke something out; but the older man didn’t buckle. He swallowed most of it, couched and grinned at him from where he was - and, shit, his expression just  _ couldn’t  _ not be rehearsed. 

It took him a moment to sit upright and reach out for the detective. Lassie, who had seemed sort of expectant - grin and all -, crawled up to him, and they kissed almost with desperation, Shawn tasting himself on Carlton’s mouth. They only let go once it became quite obvious that they could not, in fact, survive without oxygen.

***

They showered in turns. It would’ve been nice to share, as Shawn pointed out, but Carlton said something about the tub’s size and not wanting to end up in the ER because he’d been pushed over, and so it was settled. Shawn did his best to behave and be quick, mostly so he did not have time to reflect on how it had all gone and so reach the conclusion that he was in fact too embarrassed to ever go back to the bedroom and should instead try and leave through the much too small bathroom window and then go and skip Santa Barbara altogether because he obviously could not show his face in public ever again.

Okay, so maybe he did end up mulling it all over a little bit. Not that he could really be blamed for it. 

When he got out, Lassie had already changed the sheets - talk about efficiency - and there were some fresh clothes lined up for him. Nothing fancy; just comfortable enough that he wouldn’t have to ask whether he was expected, or even welcome, to stay.

He did it anyway.

“So, uhm,” he harrumphed once Carly, still naked but now clean and sleepy, got into the room and dug some pajamas out of the dresser. They were exactly the type of pajamas one would’ve expected the Head Detective to wear, which Shawn sort of already knew because he’d made a point to break into his house - and eat his stuff - at least once a week over the past four years.

Yeah. Maybe he should’ve seen this whole thing coming way earlier.

“So, what a night, huh?”

Lassie shrugged at that, but looked at him with a small worried crease between his brows. Shawn felt the awfully sappy impulse to kiss it better, and for a second came to think that he’d transformed into a particularly well-groomed Care Bear at some point that night.

“Why? It wasn’t  _ that _ bad, was it?”

The detective sounded a little bit anxious, which in Lassie years had to mean he was on the verge of having a heart attack, according to the Lassiesh dictionary Shawn discovered he’d been imbued with. So he responded accordingly.

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, wasn’t bad for, you know.”

“First time?”

“With a guy,” he corrected pointedly. With you, he wanted to say, if only because it sounded romantic and he had the growing suspicion that Carlton would totally go for romantic in his own messed up way, which would hopefully overlap with Shawn’s. “You just caught me off balance, Lassiepants. It’ll be better next time.”

It hung between them for about a second; Shawn’s heart skip a beat.

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time, Spencer?” 

There was a slightly dopey smile tugging at Lassie’s lips, and the way he said  _ Spencer _ didn’t sound even remotely derisive. Shawn could totally go for that, long-term-wise.

“C’mon, son, as if you’d be able to resist this.” He pointed at himself before winking and hopping onto the bed. Carlton was already settled there, the clean sheets open invitingly. Shawn snuggled up to him, felt an arm wrap around his body, bringing him close. “Besides: it was kind of fun. The second part, at least. I mean, it had all the drama of an after-school special with none of the wrinkles. What’s not to like?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Shawn planted a kiss on the older man’s cheek, lingered there for maybe longer than non-creepy rules allowed, then answered.

“Not to worry, Lassafrass. I think we’ll both have plenty of time to learn a thing or two.”

It took Carlton a couple of seconds to respond; he did so with a smile that was softer than any other Shawn had ever seen on him.

“Sounds good to me.”

It did sound good to Shawn, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started out wanting to write me some smut: turns out I can't. What I can do, and I do quite often, is get my characters to freak out and second-guess absolutely everything they do, even if that thing they're doing is sexytimes they've been fantasizing about for ages.   
> I, for one, don't think the transition from 'absolutely straigth' to 'maybe not that straight' would've been easy for Shawn, and performance anxiety and self-doubt and all that are totally things I think may make a guy like him panic.   
> Also, and I cannot stress this enough, I cannot write smut.

**Author's Note:**

> I NEEDED to do the "undercover mission" trope. It was just waiting for me to pick it up; I couldn't refuse. Also, I'm not exactly sure, but this whole thing became AU around season 4-ish, if only because Shawn and Abigail didn't really work out (makes sense, with him being DEEPLY DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH LASSIE).


End file.
